She spoke in a clear, high voice--a voice not rich but loud; yet after she had taken her place with her companions in Mr.Touchett's carriage she struck him as not all in the large type, the type of horrid "headings," that he had expected.

She answered the enquiries made of her by Isabel, however, and in which the young man ventured to join, with copious lucidity; and later, in the library at Gardencourt, when she had made the acquaintance of Mr.
Touchett (his wife not having thought it necessary to appear) did more to give the measure of her confidence in her powers.
"Well, I should like to know whether you consider yourselves American or English," she broke out.

"If once I knew I could talk to you accordingly." "Talk to us anyhow and we shall be thankful," Ralph liberally answered.
She fixed her eyes on him, and there was something in their character that reminded him of large polished buttons--buttons that might have fixed the elastic loops of some tense receptacle: he seemed to see the reflection of surrounding objects on the pupil.

The expression of a button is not usually deemed human, but there was something in Miss Stackpole's gaze that made him, as a very modest man, feel vaguely embarrassed--less inviolate, more dishonoured, than he liked.

This sensation, it must be added, after he had spent a day or two in her company, sensibly diminished, though it never wholly lapsed.